Survival Instinct

by Declan Conner

“It’s the same MO as the case you’re on.”

  “Have you called Frank?”

  “No, I tried, but his cell is on answer phone. SOC are down there now.”

  “Who called it in?”

  “The victim’s sister, she’s there too.”

  Joe packed away his fishing tackle, threw it in his trunk and took off, tires squealing towards Claymore Street. He plugged his cell phone into the hands-free cradle and hit the speed-dial for Frank’s home.

  “Hi, Mary, Frank there?”

  “No. . .uh. . . said he was going fishing with you an hour ago.”

  “No sweat. Must be on his way, maybe he got delayed.”

  “Have him call me.”

  “Sure, will do.”

  “Oh, by the way,” she asked with a serious tone, “would you find out what’s eating him? He seems on edge and distant lately.”

  “Pressure of work, Mary. Don’t worry; I’ll have him call you.” Joe ended the call. Damn that son of a bitch, what’s he doing?

  Joe pulled up behind the scene of crime van and noticed Frank’s car parked behind two police cars. At least he’s here. Frank stood by one of the police cars, with the door open, and took notes from the young woman inside. Joe waited until he closed his notebook and ushered him to one side.

  “You gonna fill me in?”

  “Yeah, I’ve interviewed the sister...”

  “No, not that, shit brain! What’s all this about, you fishing with me?”

  “You phoned Mary?”

  “Yeah, I phoned her. You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on? You got some broad on the side? Man if you have, you’re one sick dude.”

  Frank shrugged his shoulders, “Look, it’s nothing. I just wanted some time on my own, that’s all. Family problems.”

  Joe wasn’t convinced.

  “Yeah, well run it by me next time. Now what have we got here?”

  “The victim’s sister arranged to meet her here at one, on her lunch break. When she arrived, her car was in the drive. She went round the back. The door was open with the glass smashed, and she found her sister’s body.”

  “How did you know to come here? Control said you weren’t answering your phone.”

  “Heard it on my radio. Now, do you want to know what’s going on or not? Or are you just gonna keep bugging the shit out of me.”

  “Whoa, steady there, buddy. I was just askin’. By the way, you better phone Mary. She sounded worried.”

  “Yeah sorry, I’ll give her a call. You did cover for me?”

  “Sure, but when we finish here, we need to talk.”

  Frank’s cell phone rang and he stepped away. Frank seemed agitated and his face reddened.

  “Nyet, nyet...da, da,” he shouted into his hand, ended the call and turned back to Joe.

  “What’s with all the Rusky crap?”

  Frank ignored him and set off towards the victim’s house. He turned and beckoned.

  “You coming?”

  Joe followed in his wake. They made their way under the blue tape, up the stairway and into the bedroom.

  “Smell musty to you, Frank? Looks like it’s not a fresh kill.”

  It was a beehive of activity. Crime scene officers were busy checking for prints and taking photos. The body was in an identical position to the other two victims, and Joe could clearly see abrasions on her outstretched wrists and stab wounds in her chest.

  “Any message left in the bathroom?” asked Joe.

  “Yeah, we took a shot or two. Wait there and I’ll print you one,” said Jeff. “Looks like we’ve a serial killer on our hands. Hogan will be pleased. Coroner’s not arrived yet, but I reckon she’s been dead around thirty hours.

  The coroner will be more precise when we get her down to the morgue for autopsy. Strange thing is, there are some slight differences from the other murder scenes.”

  “Like what?” asked Frank and made his way into the bedroom.

  “Hey, outta here, this is still a crime scene.”

  “Never mind that, what are the differences?”

  “Fewer stab wounds, and this time he’s left traces of semen.”

  “Yeah, well maybe the condom burst. It all looks the same to me,” said Frank as Jeff pushed him out of the bedroom.

  “Here’s your message now,” said Jeff and took a picture from the tray of his portable printer. “Now wait outside until we’ve finished.” He gave them a photo of the body, the message and a recent photograph he had in his other hand.

  “Let’s have a look,” said Joe.

  “Try this gift, he a recluse?'

  “What does that mean? The body’s a gift and he’s a recluse? Don’t make sense. Unless he’s tellin’ us he’s a maniac and lives like a recluse. The last message, remember? ‘I am a maniac’.”

  “Maybe. Look I need to make a phone call,” said Frank, looking preoccupied. He made his way down the stairway. Joe caught up with him in the yard. Frank ended his phone call and looked worried.

  “Come on, out with it, what’s eatin’ ya? Mary?”

  “No...Nothing, just family problems back in the old country.”

  “Nothin’? Don’t look like nothin’, with that look.”

  “Damn, Hogan’s here!” Frank said.

  “Okay, Batman and Robin, what have we got?” Hogan asked.

  “Our guy’s struck again. No doubt about it,” said Frank and thrust the photograph toward Chief Hogan.

  “Hold on. The forensic guy said the scene feels different. For one thing, there are less stab wounds. And he’s left semen,” Joe intervened.

  “So, he’s gotten careless, dick-brain. Maybe he’s not as excited and don’t feel the need to stab the victim so many times. For God’s sake, he’s even left another message and the public don’t know nothin’. Look at the abrasions on the wrist. Our guy all right.”

  “Just repeatin’ what the forensic guy said,” Joe shrugged.

  “Right, I’ll contact the Feds. Let’s hope we can find the cocksucker from his DNA before we have the FBI on our ass. Now get some detecting done,” said Hogan. Waving his hand, he turned to leave. “Damn the bastard for spoiling my lunch,” Joe heard him mutter as he left the scene.

  “Come on, let’s see what we can dig up,” said Joe.

  They re-entered the house. After Jeff give them the “all clear,” they went into the bedroom and Joe found a card in her purse.

  “Take a look at this, edating singles’ club membership, and there’s a ticket for a dance Saturday night.”

  “Good a place to start as any, Joe. I’ll get uniform and probe the neighbors. Maybe somebody heard something. Then we can check out the singles’ club.”

  Contents

  Old soldiers’ tales

  Bill parked in the driveway and walked through the door, clutching Jamie’s cream and a bumper pack of condoms.

  “Here, make sure you always have them with you,” he said and walked into the kitchen. Jamie could hardly protest, letting him get on with it. With Bill out of sight, he applied the cream, wincing in pain.

  “Jamie, do you have today’s newspaper? I like to read when I’m cooking,” asked Bill, popping his head around the kitchen door.

  “Sure, there’s one here, take it.”

  Bill was in his element. Jamie could hear him crooning away in the kitchen. The trouble was, Bill was tone deaf, as well as color blind in his dress sense, which rather added to his persona. Rather than upset him, Jamie switched on the television to drown out the din.

  News of another rape and murder of a young, single girl living alone near to Jamie’s neighborhood was the news of the day. The perpetrator had notched up his third victim.

  The local Police Chief in charge of the case was coming under intense pressure from a frenzy of television reporters. He looked agitated with their line of questioning, but stuck to a simple statement.

  “We are working on a number of lines of enquiry. Rest assured, we are doing everything in our power to find the killer,” he
said and turned to escape the throng. The newscaster announced they were about to put photographs of the victims on the screen and Jamie switched off the television.

  He wondered what was taking Bill so long, when he heard the sound of glass breaking in the kitchen. What the hell? Bill appeared with two plates of food and put Jamie’s on his lap, causing him to scream out.

  “For God’s sake, Bill, cushion quick, over here,” cried Jamie waving frantically.

  “Sorry, old buddy, I forgot,” he said, taking the plate and passing a cushion. Bill meant well, but Jamie was beginning to think he would rather suffer on his own.

  “What did you manage to break in the kitchen? I thought heard the sound of breaking glass?”

  “I didn’t break anything. One of the panes of glass in the door was smashed. I’ve cleaned it out, but you need to get it fixed.”

  “Sorry, I thought maybe you’d smashed something. I’m surprised the kids didn’t notice it this morning,” Jamie said and he carried on eating. “Damn good this meal, what took you so long? It’s only a stir fry.”

  “Oh, I got distracted doing the crossword,” replied Bill.

  My crossword? Jamie nearly choked on his food. Now he knew Bill had outstayed his welcome.

  “Don’t tell me you do crosswords?”

  “What else is there to do when you live on your own? I used to do them in the army to stop the boredom.”

  “Okay, what was the answer to one down then?” Jamie had been thinking about it all morning.

  “Are you kidding, that was easy! One down is ‘yesterday’. ‘Yes’ is part of eyes, ‘ter’ is from terra for ground, in short, and the answer ‘yesterday’ is in the past. You need to find a different newspaper. I don’t usually finish them so quickly,” answered Bill, who was by now really winding up Jamie.

  He was almost foaming at the mouth, and it took all his resilience to hold his composure.

  “Don’t you have to be back at work soon?”

  “What, and leave my buddy to suffer in silence? No, better I stay here to keep you company.”

  Jamie didn’t have the heart to tell him he would feel better alone and asked him about his army days.

  “Where were you stationed, Bill?”

  “You mean where wasn’t I stationed; I was a cook. I went wherever the battlefield went, from Kuwait right through to Bagdad then on to Helmand Province in Afghanistan.”

  “You’re joking! I never did the Kuwait bit, but I must have followed you the rest of the way.”

  They started to reminisce about the old days, as if they had known each other all their lives. Jamie told him about his encounter in Bangkok, which had Bill in stitches.

  “I don’t want to turn your stomach since you’ve just eaten, Jamie, but I’ve got to tell you about the time I nearly poisoned the entire officer core.”

  “What? Where did that happen?”

  “It was on the way from Kuwait to Bagdad and nearly swung the war in the Iraqi’s favor.”

  “Go on, humor me.”

  “Every now and then the Captain on duty would come and inspect the kitchen tent. They were sticklers for cleanliness. All the equipment was portable and we used to set up the dishes in cooking trays. The trays had feet on hinges down the centre of the tent, and we put the portable gas burners underneath. It was just my luck to be on duty, preparing the officers’ meals. Someone tipped me off that the General was in camp and on his way to the kitchen. Everything was cooking away nicely, so I took a broom and started to sweep the sand.”

  “Sand! Why the hell would you sweep sand?”

  “You could hardly mop it, think about it. We still had to make it hygienic. Now can I carry on?”

  “Sorry, just trying to get the picture.”

  “The broom slipped and I knocked the feet out from under the cooking tray holding the stew.”

  “This must be a joke, what happened next?”

  “No, it’s the god’s honest truth. I managed to get a bucket under it full of greasy rags that we used to clean up and poured it back in. I picked up the pieces of steak that I’d missed, rinsed them down and threw them back in too. Just as I finished, the General and his orderly walked in.”

  “What happened, did he put you on a duty or something?”

  “Hell’s teeth no! He went around tasting all the food and when he got to the stew he freaked out, said it was the best damn stew he’d ever tasted this side of Texas. I thought he was going to give me a medal,” said Bill and broke into laughter. For a moment, Jamie forgot his pain, as he joined in laughing uncontrollably.

  “Where were you stationed in Afghanistan?” Bill asked

  “Oh, here and there,” Jamie replied.

  “What do you mean ‘here and there’?”

  “It’s just something I don’t like to talk about.”

  Bill held his hands up in surrender. Apparently, he knew some of the guys had bad tours and some things where best left alone.

  “Okay, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”

  Jamie didn’t mind talking about his days in Iraq, but whenever the subject of Afghanistan came up, he would always clam up. Bill turned on the television and became engrossed in a film.

  Jamie started to daydream, then drifted to sleep and began to dream about his tour in Afghanistan.

  “Agent Moody, CIA,” the man introduced himself to Jamie’s four-man special-forces team. “Your task is to locate Boris Baranski, an ex Russian Colonel in their special forces and take him out. Boris uses his contacts with the Taliban, nurtured during the CIA’s backing of the Mujahedeen. He’s become one of the major players in smuggling and distributing heroin to Russia. The trade in heroin in Afghanistan is generating one-hundred-million dollars annually, providing the Taliban insurgents with much needed funds

  The task is simple; take him out by ambush on one of his many trips to Kanduz, in the province controlled by his Taliban friends.

  Fifteen kilograms of opium makes one kilogram of heroin, with a street value of up to one-hundred-and-seventy-thousand dollars. One kilogram of heroin buys thirty AK-47s valued at seventy-five dollars each. It doesn’t take a genius to work out the vast profits being made. The Russians never pay in cash, meeting near the old Afghan-Soviet border in the desert of Tajikistan to barter their evil trade with either sex or ammunitions. Boris has started to spread his net wider. He operates from his native Kazakhstan, where the Russians can’t touch him. From there he controls his empire with impunity since the breakup of the Soviet Block. Any questions?”

  Of the other three members of Jamie’s team, there was Grant, a communications expert, Joe who specialized in languages and Harry the gung ho marine type.

  “No questions,” they all replied, as they spread a map in front of them.

  Their first task was to reconnoiter a suitable ambush site, along the road. Intelligence had told them he would be travelling there, except there was no date and time. It would be just a question of waiting, watching and gathering information from friendly locals.

  “Charlie Zero, target in sight, heading for the kill zone. ETA three minutes, standby.”

  Jamie’s team lay in wait for the approaching convoy. From their vantage point on the hillside, the landscape shimmered in the heat of the midday sun. The convoy came into view, having the appearance of a mirage. All eyes strained to focus, stinging from beads of sweat. The plume of dust thrown up by the vehicles drew ever nearer.

  Focusing his binoculars, the target gold Lexus came into view in the centre of the convoy. Fifteen vehicles in all, carrying their deadly cargo, counted a young Jamie Jameson, the team’s explosive expert.

  Jamie took the protective cover off his M15 carbine and set it in position. Checking his electronic detonator, the green light held steady and sweat fell from his nose onto his finger, as it poised on the button of the detonator.

  Five, four three two...boom! The road that stretched onward below them, lifted from the comfort of mother earth. One hundred
meters of metal, rubber, blood and soil, intermingled in a deafening blast. Then silence. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, he thought. Jamie wiped the sweat from his brow and remained vigilant.

  A few remaining survivors staggered from the convoy in the swirling dust and smoke. A staccato of gunfire from the hills either side of the convoy finished the task. Silence descended once again over the echoes.

  Senses heightened, as the acrid smell of the carnage drifted to their positions. Making his way to the Lexus, Harry, the gung ho marine type, crouched down suddenly, when he heard the sound of a clanking bell. Jamie fixed his binoculars on the young boy shepherding his flock. One hand held a staff and the other seemed to be holding a device, as he heard him chanting. Jamie panned the flock and noticed the lead goat had a distinct yellow patch, just as it brushed by Harry. Shit... ambush!

  Sometime later, Jamie lay in a hospital bed, still bound in bandages and casts, recovering from his injuries.

  “Mail from back home, Jamie,” said the orderly.

  Jamie inspected the letter in the unfamiliar hand and opened it. His deafening scream echoed through the stillness of the corridors. Jamie crumpled the letter in his palm and squeezed it to a wad. Releasing his grip, it rolled to the floor. Jamie’s eyes went vacant, his essence a mournful and empty shell.

  Jamie recovered from his injuries. Only scars remained in his mind, as he regained some semblance of normality. He waited outside his psychiatrist’s office for the decision he was hoping would restore him to active duty. Agent Moody brushed past him and entered the office. The door failed to close and Jamie overheard the conversation between Agent Moody and the psychiatrist.

  “Have you written your notes up on Jamie yet?”

  “No, not yet, he should be shipped back home. He’s recovered physically, but his mind’s taken a battering.”

  “Not an option, we need his expertise. His mission failed to take out Boris Baranski. We need to put Boris out of business. He has to be stopped, executive orders!”

  “But...”

  “No buts, we need him back. He looks good... see to it.”

  Jamie’s body was moving, someone was shoving him when he woke up a bit groggy.